Page 108 of Carnal Urges
Not for me. For Declan. For what might happen to him. He could be arrested. He could be shot. He could be taken prisoner and tortured by a rival gang. And I’d be helpless to do anything about any of it.
I hate being helpless.
I hate being nervous, too.
In fact, I’m finding quite a few things to hate in this new landscape called “caring,” most of which have to do with the changes in myself.
How can you be a badass when you’re constantly worried about someone else?
Declan notices my anxiety and squeezes my hand.
“We’ll be there soon.”
“How far is it?”
“We’ll take a helicopter from the airport. From there, it’s a one-hour flight.”
“To?”
“Martha’s Vineyard.”
He watches my face closely as I digest that information, his fingers tight around mine.
“How long have you had a home on Martha’s Vineyard?”
“A few days.”
I arch my brows, surprised. “Days?”
His tone dry, he says, “I didn’t know how many of your ex-lovers would attempt to shoot their way into my building.”
“You move pretty fast, don’t you?”
“Once I’m motivated, at the speed of light,” he murmurs, his gaze locked to mine.
“And now you’re motivated?”
“You know I am.”
“By me?”
“Don’t be coy.”
“But I’m so cute when I’m being coy.”
He reaches up and caresses my cheek. “Are you worried?”
“Hell, yes.”
“About what?”
“That you’ll die of your advanced age, and I’ll have to find a Realtor on short notice to unload this lover’s pied-à-terre you bought.”
Knowing I didn’t want to admit I was worried about what might happen to him, he chuckles. “It’s hardly a pied-à-terre.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s a ten-thousand-square-foot estate on six acres.”
